‘You can’t delete the blog, Megan,’ I say.
I hear Paula come up the hall behind me. I make an excuse and drag Megan upstairs.
‘School starts in less than two weeks,’ I whisper when we are on the first floor. ‘If it is Hazel, and you delete the blog, she’ll get at you another way, just like the other rumour she spread. You have to do something, Megan.’
She stops and looks at me like she’s waiting for me to tell her what to do.
‘Stand up to her,’ I say.
‘By doing what? She’s not going to admit it’s her. Same as the other rumour.’
‘There’s got to be something.’
But Megan’s eyes start to glisten with tears. ‘It’s not fair,’ she says. ‘Everyone can read what she’s saying.’ And I know that, for Megan, that’s just as bad as Hazel’s words. Megan drags herself up the stairs again.
I follow her, but slower, because I’m hoping I’ll think of something. But what can you do when you can’t prove it’s Hazel?
When I get to my room, Megan is staring at the ceiling.
‘Lucy?’ she says.
I follow her eyes.
The panel. I left it open last night. ‘Wait—’ I say. But I sound like an injured bird or something, which only makes Megan jump up on the back of the chair and stick her head into the attic. My attic.
‘Lucy . . . ?’
I even left the lamp on.
‘What is this?’
‘It’s . . .’ But there is nothing I can say to stop her from pulling herself up.
She’s above me but I can’t see her face. Her back is to me. She’s looking at my drawings. I feel a little dizzy, like she’s rummaging around in my brain and reading my thoughts.
I wait. She doesn’t move or call down to me, so I give in, and go up to her.
She stands like she’s on a stage with a crowd of people staring back at her. Except the crowd is mainly made up of my mum, dad and Ms Cusack. And some of her own face, which she must think is weird.
It’s like watching someone watch a movie. Her face keeps changing. She’s amazed, impressed, freaked out, even a bit disappointed, probably because I’ve been keeping this a secret. But one look settles on her face which is softer than the others, harder to read.
I follow where she’s looking. It’s Dad’s face, the day he used a picture I’d drawn for him to light a BBQ because me and Mum made fun of him in front of some of his friends. At first, he laughed, but after, when no one else was watching, he gave me that look. Like I’d gone too far. Disappointed him.
Megan chews her lip as she jumps from Dad to Dad to Dad. Finally, when she speaks, her voice matches her expression. ‘He looks so angry,’ she says. She turns to me. ‘Have they argued again?’ she asks, but what she’s really asking is, Is there something you’re not telling me?
I don’t want her here, I don’t want her seeing these. Because somehow, it makes it more real.
When I don’t reply, she asks, ‘Bad?’
I shrug and try to sound casual. ‘Same as usual.’
‘About what?’
Dad’s money trouble. Mum’s fake visit with Anne. I don’t really know. I don’t even think they know.
‘It’s fine, Megan. It’ll get better now that things have changed for Dad with work,’ I don’t tell her what things. I just hold her eye, hoping she will agree with me. Because it will get better. It has to.
Megan nods slowly and then looks at all the pictures. ‘They’re good, Lucy. Actually, they’re amazing.’ But now I turn my eyes to the floor until eventually she gets that I don’t want to talk about them any more.
‘How far does it go?’
When I look up, she’s squinting into the shadows. ‘All the way to the end of the row,’ I say.
‘Have you been down there?’
I nod.
‘Any cool stuff?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘No dead bodies or treasure maps.’
Please don’t go down there. Please just forget about all of this and leave.
‘Who else knows about this?’ she says.
‘No one,’ I say, and I crouch on the floor like I’m about to drop back into my room. But she stays where she is, looking like she’s doing maths in her head. ‘What, Megan?’ I say.
‘Do all the houses have ceiling panels that open?’
‘Why?’
‘Just wondering,’ she says. But then she speaks in this high-pitched, nasally voice. ‘I keep a diary, too.’ The grin in her voice makes my heart quicken.
‘Megan? What?’
She walks through Ms Cusack’s attic.
‘Megan, don’t . . .’
She doesn’t answer and I don’t want her snooping on her own, so I snatch the torch off the floor and go after her.
By the time I catch up, she’s almost halfway through the row of attics. She’s not even looking around, she’s just going straight ahead like she’s on a mission.
‘Megan, stop!’ I say.
This time, she does. The torchlight catches her face and she has that look again, like she’s calculating something. ‘Which one is hers?’ she asks.
‘Whose?’
‘Hazel’s.’
‘Why?’ I ask.
‘I just want to know.’
But I get a feeling it’s more than that. ‘Why?’
‘Because.’
‘Megan!’
‘Lucy, please? Come on? Look, I know my way around her house, I’ve been in it a million times. Right below that panel is the room where she practises violin. Her bedroom’s below that. And she’s at orchestra practice. And her parents are in work. And her sister’s probably out. And she keeps a diary, too, Lucy. Remember?’
‘What are you talking about? We’re not going in there!’ I say. That’s got to be illegal, right?
‘Just for a sec,’ she says.
‘Megan! If we get caught—’
‘We won’t.’
‘But if we do . . . and anyway, what’s the point?’
‘To find her diary.’
‘Her diary?’
‘Yeah.’
‘No way. We are not reading her diary, Megan.’
‘You said I should do something!’
‘Not that.’
‘Why?’
Why? Because that’s like Megan walking around up here, window shopping in my brain. Except worse. ‘Reading her diary is like stealing her thoughts or something.’
‘So what am I supposed to do?’
‘Ask her to her face.’
‘But she’ll deny it. And I’ve no way of proving it’s her.’ Megan starts speaking in the nasally voice again. ‘Penny’s peed herself laughing at some pathetic joke she’s just—’
‘I know, Megan, but . . .’
Megan grabs my hand. ‘Please, Lucy. I just want to know. To see it written down by her own hand that it’s her leaving those comments.’
‘What difference will it make?’ I ask. ‘You still can’t go up to her and say, I know it’s you, I read your diary.’
‘But at least I’ll know, Lucy,’ she says. ‘When she’s wandering around school with Lisette making fun of me, at least I won’t feel like a complete fool.’ She’s pleading with eyes that glisten, but not with tears. Now they sparkle with the possibility of having a way of knowing for sure it’s Hazel. And I sigh. Because I get it, there’s power in knowing.
Besides, I won’t be able to stop her now.
‘Two doors down,’ I say.
Megan springs forward and hugs me. Then she turns for Hazel’s attic.
CHAPTER 14
Megan sticks her head down into what looks like Hazel’s practice room. Then she turns to me. She looks like an action girl from a Japanese cartoon.
‘It’s empty. So, what’s the best way down?’
‘Megan!’ I say. I don’t even want to break in, now she wants me to take charge?
‘I’m not good with heights,’ she says. ‘And you’re used to jumping out of the
attic.’
‘My own attic,’ I say. But she gives me her puppy-dog eyes. ‘Fine.’ Almost directly below us is a music stand holding some pages. In the corner is a chair. I can move that for Megan to land on.
I lower myself as slowly as I can and when my arms start wobbling from the weight of my body, I fall through and drop onto the floor with a thud. I really hope there’s no one in the room below.
I tiptoe to the chair, and then get it into position. ‘Come on,’ I say.
Megan looks scared.
‘Then don’t do it,’ I say.
But Megan’s face disappears and her legs come through, and then with a jerk she drops down a bit. She hangs there. And shrieks.
‘Shhhh,’ I say. I hop up on the chair and wrap my arms around her flailing legs. She puts a hand on my head. Then suddenly I’m holding all her weight while her other hand is slapping my face. ‘Megan! I can’t see. Ow!’ I think one of her fingers is up my nose. ‘Stop, wait, take your hand—’
But Megan wiggles and I can’t hold her any more. Or myself. I tilt back and the wall tilts forward and the chair topples over onto the floor and I land with a clatter with Megan on top of me.
Ouch. And oooops.
‘Get off,’ I say, pushing her away. There’s no way we haven’t been heard. I turn the chair and jump up and am lifting myself into the attic when, from below, Megan says,
‘It’s fine.’
I strain my neck to look. She’s rubbing her head and looking out of the window. ‘Stefanie’s sunbathing. With earphones in. And no top on. Gross.’ She turns back to me. ‘It’s fine. Come on.’
‘What if there’s someone else home?’ I say.
‘There won’t be,’ she says.
‘But what if . . .’
Megan has her mobile out. She dials a number and somewhere far below us, I hear a phone. No one answers after fifteen rings. Megan hangs up. I’m still dangling here. ‘Why didn’t you do that five minutes ago?’
Megan shrugs. ‘Didn’t think of it. Come on,’ she says and goes to the door.
I shake my head, take a deep breath, and lower myself again.
She’s already halfway down the stairs by the time I get to her. It’s so weird creeping through a house the exact same as yours, but not. Like you’re snooping on yourself.
Hazel’s room is on the second floor. It’s really tidy. There are tons of golden violin awards all lined up in a row on her shelf.
One wall is covered with photos, normal ones and orchestra ones, but a photo of Hazel and Lisette with their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders is the biggest. It’s beside her bed but tilted a tiny bit so it faces the door.
‘Urgh,’ I whisper. ‘Is she always this . . .’ I look around the room for the word. ‘Organized?’
Megan looks under the pillows for Hazel’s diary and I go straight to the window to keep an eye on Stefanie. As long as I can see Hazel’s sister sunbathing in the back garden, we’re safe.
Megan’s looking under the bed. She’s not very good at this.
I run to the bedside table and open the little drawer. Placed perfectly in the centre is a purple notebook with the words Hazel’s Diary printed in neat writing on the front.
It’s not right. To open it. To read it. It would be like someone taking my drawings from the attic and taping them to the front of my house for everyone to see.
But Megan’s beside me now. She grabs it and sits down on the bed and starts reading. I go back to the window.
Megan flicks through it, reading out dates and sentences at random.
I keep my eyes on Stefanie. She doesn’t move a muscle. Maybe she’s had a stroke and is dead.
‘She’s saying I’m immature,’ Megan says.
‘You are,’ I say.
This wasn’t a good idea. Besides the fact that Hazel’s diary is private, what if Megan reads more horrible comments? She’ll feel even worse.
‘Hey, listen to this, I was supposed to go to the cinema with Megan, but Lisette’s staying over and if we went, Megan would just embarrass me, buying candy necklaces and eating them off her neck.’ Megan lowers the diary. ‘She’s the one that used to do that!’
‘Megan, that’s not why we’re here. We’re only looking for proof that Hazel wrote those comments. Just read the last few pages,’ I say.
‘Okay, okay.’
My skin’s crawling. We’re going to get caught, I know it. ‘Megan, come on, let’s go.’
She giggles like she just found some gossip. ‘I think someone’s a little paranoid,’ she says.
‘Megan, you’re supposed to—’
‘Listen,’ she says and starts reading. ‘I was taking out my lunch when I saw Lisette staring at me, and I realized no one brings food, they just have Diet Coke, so really quickly, I said, “Poor Mum, she has no clue,” and I dumped the sandwiches into the bin. Thank God no one else noticed, they already think I’m a kid, which is stupid because I’m really mature for my age, even Lisette says so. I’m not wearing anything tight until I can buy a padded bra.’
Wait . . . seriously? A padded bra? After that look she gave Megan in the park?
Megan reads another entry. ‘Stephen is madly in love with Lisette. He texts her every night before he goes to sleep and first thing in the morning. Like he can’t live without her for a second. I wish I had a boyfriend like that. Stephen is so perfect.’
‘She likes Stephen!’ she whispers. She flicks the page again. ‘This is so good. She thinks he’s the handsomest guy in the whole wide world. Seriously, she says that. Then Megan’s eyes dart to the door. ‘What was that?’
I don’t hear anything, but I look out of the window anyway.
Stefanie’s gone.
And now I hear singing.
I run out to the landing and I stick my head over the stairs but then whip it back just as fast. Stefanie’s coming. She’s on the flight below.
The singing stops. Has she heard us? She’ll call the police. We’ll be arrested. Dad will go ballistic. I risk a look again. She has earphones in and she’s scrolling through her phone.
Where is Megan?!
I sprint back to her just as she’s sliding the drawer closed. I pull her out of the room.
We rush across the landing and are just out of sight of the lower stairs, when, ‘Hello?’ Stefanie calls.
She’s heard us. I wince. But I squeeze Megan’s arm and we tiptoe upstairs.
‘Hazel, you better not be trying to freak me out.’
We keep going, step by painfully slow step until we’re at the top. We disappear behind the corner.
‘Hazel! Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?’
I push Megan to move faster. We creep along the top floor and slip into the practice room. Stefanie’s running up the stairs now.
‘Go!’ I say.
Megan leaps onto the chair beside the music stand and lifts herself through the open ceiling panel. And gets stuck there. ‘Lucy, help!’ she says.
I jump up, take her feet, and throw her upwards as hard as I can.
‘Hazel?’ Stefanie calls.
Stefanie is just outside in the hallway. I leap high. Then Megan is pulling me and I’m kicking the air trying to pull myself up. And I’m inside.
We both kneel and lift the corners of the panel and slide it back into place and carefully let go. And just as the gap disappears, I see Stefanie come into the room.
I hold my breath and don’t move a muscle. Ten seconds pass. Twenty.
Below, she moves again.
It’s quiet. She’s gone.
In the dark, Megan’s panting. ‘I got them! The last few pages!’ she says, and her phone lights up. She took photos.
Megan catches her breath, then whisper-reads.
Dear diary,
So much has happened.
I’M MADLY IN LOVE WITH STEPHEN HICKEY.
I know it’s wrong but I can’t help it. Here’s what happened.
On Thursday night he texted me the violin mak
er’s phone number. He said that the guy only makes the best, and that’s what I needed, the best violin for the best violinist. Me! The best violinist!!!!!!!!!
Then on Saturday he offered to walk me to the shop. I didn’t tell Lisette. We spent all afternoon together. It was amazing. He’s so smart but so sensitive too. He knows EVERYTHING about violins. He seemed really sad when he talked about Lisette. He was sorry about what happened but he said Lisette is too self-absorbed and he’s right, she is. He says being with Lisette can be really hard, and I know what he means.
He walked me home and the minute he left me, I started getting texts from him, saying don’t worry, we’ll get you a violin as special as you. And that, by next year, I’d be the one in first chair, which is where Lisette sits now, right next to him!
All day Sunday I was with Lisette, talking about whether she should forgive him . . . it was horrible! I was so afraid she’d use my phone and read my texts or something, but I couldn’t make myself delete them.
Stephen is the most amazing boy. I can’t even explain it. He’s so smart and so cute.
I feel fantastic and terrible all at once.
Lisette just doesn’t understand him the way I do.
‘Oh. My. God,’ Megan says. ‘That whole time on Sunday she was persuading Lisette to get back with Stephen when she likes him!’
Megan is delighted. But I feel as uneasy as when I hear the front door slam and I’m waiting to see what mood Dad’s in. Like there’s a nest of baby snakes twisting around inside me.
We shouldn’t know this. It’s not fair. It’s Hazel’s secret
‘Wait . . . Here it is . . .’ Megan says. ‘Megan’s clueless. And that blog is so immature. I don’t know who is more annoying, Megan or Penny. It’s hilarious, though, because she deletes my comments but I just put them back up. I seriously have to ditch her before school starts, I don’t need her embarrassing me.’
Megan looks at me with you see eyes.
Okay. Now I don’t know what to think. We shouldn’t be reading this . . . but not only is Hazel leaving the comments, she thinks it’s hilarious too?
Maybe she does deserve to have her secrets known, at least by Megan.
In the light from her phone, Megan’s face glows and her hair is a pink halo. She doesn’t look crushed. Actually she loks like she’s about to burst out laughing. Like the comments don’t have the power to hurt her any more.
The Words That Fly Between Us Page 7
